in retrospect, this seems just about right. || jurassic park

It's a dark room, the only thing he can hear is the television running a news special across the hall. The reporter's nasal voice drowns his thoughts with images of the lost girl that she's talking about. He knows that girl. She's familiar to him. She's his lost child. His name is Dr. Alan Grant, and his daughter is dead on Site B.

His desperate attempts to save her were futile. He called many searches in, but no one could get her. He had strong hope, never wanting to give up the idea of her being alive. It took twenty-seven rescue attempts before his hope started to fade. By the end of the thirty-fourth search, Dr. Grant's hope had died out completely. And it was all the man with the uniform's fault.

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Soft footsteps are replaced by angry roars, loud thumps, and lightning striking. A group of four teens, two boys and two girls, ran across the open field towards a small, steel building. "Quick, get inside!" Charlie Deleger, yelled to his followers. The group followed closely behind. Entering in first was Amelia Grant. She darted inside so quickly she ended up slamming into the cold metal wall. A few seconds behind Amelia was Rebecca Malcom, who ended up skidding across the floors and ramming into the wall besides the smaller girl. Second to last to enter was Marcus Deleger, who was followed closely behind by Charlie. The two boys managed to get the heavy metal doors shut and locked before any predators could get to them.

For a while it was silent. It wasn't until Rebecca spoke out to Amelia."You have tangles in your hair, Lia... I'm gonna get 'em out for ya, okay?” She spoke with a hushed tone. Amelia nodded slowly, before leaning over to let Rebecca pull the knots out of her hair. The group of adolecents stayed silently in the building for what seemed like hours. The rain, which had been falling at a seemingly steady pace before, heavied over time. Many varieties of roars were heard, echoing through the land, and causing each of the teens to shudder.

The night had just started to fall when the group heard an unusual sound. It sounded similar to a helicopter's blades. They knew it couldn't have been. But as they shared a look, a look of small hope, each one of them peered out the window. To their surprise, it was a helicopter. And a U.S. Government one at that.

"We have to go," Charlie stated, before grabbing his shotgun and loading it. The others mimicked him, and after each had armed themselves, he moved to open the doors. He unlocked the heavy bolt lock in seconds, and threw the doors open with immense speed. He ran out the doors and int the open fields. The others followed behind him, desperately trying to keep up with his quick pace. They ran towards the abandoned landing pad, where they prayed the helicopter was landed at. Charlie yelled back at the others, telling them to hurry, and that they were almost there. Rebecca and Marcus were running at almost the same pace, while Amelia was a few feet behind them, firing warning shots into the air. Nearing the landing pads, the pace of each of the teens running quickened. The helicopter was landed in the middle of the landing circle. It's blades weren't slowing, which meant that it was going to be a quick escape. That factor didn't bother any of them, all they wanted was to be off of the island as quick as they possibly could. When they were all close enough to the helicopter, they each dove into the metal machine. Each made sure that all of the others were there, all doing a mental roll call for the group. All were there, and all were safe. The helicopter took off with the teenagers all laying on the floor of the helicopter, each trying to regain regular breathing. It was another bit of silence, but this time, it was Marcus who broke it. "We're safe..." he had mumbled, letting his eyes close to rest in peace for the first time in a long while. They were all smiling, covered in dried blood, sweat, and dirt, but still smiling.

Everyone had been so wrapped up that no one heard the approaching cries of the pteradons. No one heard them slowly start to peck at the odd machine in the sky. No one heard the sound of metal being torn of the helicopter. No one was prepared for the beaks of many angry pteradons to be tearing and ripping at their skin. No one predicted that they would get them now, because it was all over. No one predicted to watch everyone die as they were on their way back to normalcy. No one predicted that it would end with everyone falling down towards the angry seas, all either half alive or half dead with absolutely nobody to save them. No one predicted for their bodies to crash into the seas, slowly sinking down to the dark depths, where they couldn't be found.

No one predicted that they'd die like this, but maybe, just maybe, they expected it.

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Of course, the story always ended badly for Dr. Grant. It always seemed to. The government still hadn't located any of the bodies, he couldn't get in touch with Ellie or Ian, and no one would believe him when he told them. He was alone, and it drove him mad. Every day that he walked around the small home that he and his daughter had lived in, a small voice inside of his head would beg for himself to take his life. Giving him foolproof wasy to take his life, so he could be with his daughter, and her mother, forever. He wasn't usually the kind of man to think like this, but somehow, he realized wasn't that man anymore. He never would be. Ever again. So he planned. Every day, he planned. He went over everything. Over and over, he made sure it was perfect. He pondered over it for days. He ended up going deep down into it, making sure it was just right.

And when he had the perfect plan laid out, Dr. Alan Grant did it. He killed himself on November 21st, 2009. The day his daughter, Amelia, would have turned eighteen.